


Siren Song

by PoisonKisses



Category: Batman (Comics), Gotham City Sirens (Comics)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 04:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8735428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonKisses/pseuds/PoisonKisses
Summary: Poison Ivy sings to the plants, but Harley and Selina love her songs anyway.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just writing a drabble because insomnia, and this came out. Hope you like it!

I sing to them sometimes.

When they want. 

Well, of course I sing to them everyday, in the mornings. It's hard to stay out of the chorus when the sun--the glorious sun--first kisses them after the long darkness of night. They sing with joy and with life and I can't sleep through it. It wakes me up and I join in. I go to each one that I know--a smile, a verse, a quick drink of water--to encourage them to live and to grow. They're always so happy to see me, so eager to sing with me. 

Here, in the city, so many of them are in pain, or sad, or ill, or dying. People sometimes wonder why I don't just give up and leave. "You'd be happier in the Amazon, or the Pacific Northwest, or sub-Saharan Africa, or India, or Australia. You wouldn't hurt anyone there."

They don't understand. The song is strong in those places--a mighty chorus of powerful, healthy voices. It's here, where they struggle to be heard, that I'm most useful, where my steady alto supports them, provides a harmony for those whose voices have dwindled to just a whisper, or gone scratchy, or just out of tune. It's been so long some of them have almost forgotten how to sing, and they can no longer hear the beautiful, lilting melody.

Alec understands. He lives in the very heart of the music, conducting, providing a deep bass that is a foundation for the rest of the great song. When we're together, we harmonize, and it's a beautiful and powerful thing. The humans, the self-proclaimed heroes, don't understand and accuse us of having moral failings, of not caring, and it's simply not true. Others are responsible for their song--a primal, throbbing beat that has echoed almost as long as ours. It's a Red song, raw and in pain, the song of tooth and claw and ugly death. Of blood. It's a song that you work yourself into an ecstatic sweat dancing to...a far cry from our comparably serene song of Green.

It's Harley's song. Selina's song. I love them, but they don't hear mine. Sometimes I forget. It's easy to forget I need to use the Red words I learned when I was fully one of them. Before I learned to sing. I hurt their feelings, and I know it. I try to remember what it was like to hear the way they do, but sometimes I just feel like a child playing dressup. Pretending.

Sometimes when I'm with the girls I forget, get distracted, and join in the song. They think I'm strange, and I suppose they're not wrong. Someday, maybe, I'll teach them to sing the way I do. Someday, maybe, we can learn each others' songs. I can still hear echoes of the Red song, unlike Alec. In my optimistic moments, I wonder if maybe I'm the key to singing both?

**

What can I say? I've been fascinated with her since the first day I met her, sticking my arm through the bars of her cell in Arkham like a complete idiot. She could have killed me. I've since learned she's insanely powerful. She's weird. She's dangerous. 

I know a bit about danger. With a romantic history like mine, it kinda comes with the territory, but she's a completely different kinda dangerous than he was. Is. Whatever.

I don't know how many times I made the claim "You don't know him like I do. You don't see his hidden depths. You don't see the tears underneath the laughter." All bullshit of course. You scratch his surface and you just get more surface. Hidden depths my ass. He doesn't have a secret side--I know, I've searched. I've stretched into that abyss as far as I could, flailing about for anything, and found...nothing. In fact, I dove in, sacrificing everything, because I believed it was in there, buried. Nada. Zilch. Zero. Goose Egg. 

She's another story. There's a hidden side to her--a side no one ever sees, hell, a side no one but Kitty even knows MIGHT be there. She presents what people expect to see to the outside world, but when you scratch her surface? It's an entirely different experience.

I'm definitely not a morning person. When we first moved in together, I usually rolled into the kitchen no earlier than noon, and she'd have lunch waiting on me. I knew she was an early riser, but I'll never forget the first time I watched her get up in the morning. I'd pulled an all-nighter, playing some game, and was still awake when I saw her pad past my bedroom door on her perfect bare feet (seriously I could wax poetic on how every inch of her is perfect, but her feet are downright unfair,) without thinking, I snuck after her.

We were sharing a small house together, the three of us. I don't even know if Kitty had made it home the night before--she did that sometimes, just stayed gone for a few days at a time with an occasional 'I'm not dead' text. I did it too. Ivy was the reliable one. She made her way downstairs, slid open the glass doors, and then stepped out into the backyard. I snuck to the door and watched her, unable to look away. I don't know how long she took, more than an hour if I had to guess, but she went to each plant, watering it, spending time with it, and all the while crooning to it softly, under her breath. Some wordless song. Now, not once have I ever heard Ivy sing a proper song, she tends to hate pop music with great passion. The only music I've ever caught her listening to is like, classical, but her voice. You have to understand, her speaking voice is deep and musical--sort of breathy and sexy--and she could, I shit you not, have made a fortune as a voice over artist or a phone sex operator. It's always been kinda mesmerizing, but her singing voice. Yikes. I had no idea what she was singing but I was riveted.

So were the plants!

I could see them moving, stretching out to her, like they were eager for her touch, and that was when I first really understood. The plants do what she wants, but not because she orders them to. She doesn't control them. 

She's one of them, they love her, and they want to save her as much as she wants to save them.

You see, I'm a little jealous. There's a world she's in that I'm not a part of, and I think, to an extent, I resent that. I asked her about it, when she was done, and she said, "I was just singing to them, Harls."

I wish I could be a part of her song too.

**

Roommates, man.

It took me a while to get used to sharing a home with other people. For years it was just Maggie and I, and then it was Holly, but living in a house with Harley Quinn--a legitimate insane person who had a thing for the freakin' Joker (yuck) and Poison Ivy--a freaky deaky metahuman who could have killed me during a temper tantrum and barely notice, was a harrowing experience.

I'm an independent person, but good Goddamn Gotham was getting scary. You live and die here based on your rep and your crew. My life smoothed out a lot when it became known that Ivy was on my favorite contacts list. The woman is just frightening and the rank and file of Gotham's criminals do not cross Poison Ivy. There are times you look into those green eyes and nothing human is looking back--like an alien has taken up residence in her body. It's like you're completely irrelevant to her--something interesting she found in a microscope slide. 

Sometimes you realize she may be the most caring person you've ever met.

For me it was the little things. I'd stumble downstairs in the afternoon, nursing a hangover or sore from an ass kicking (or both) and she'd wordlessly just hand me a cup of coffee, exactly how I like it, and let me sit, sip and wake up. Almost like she could read my mind, she'd plop down a bagel and cream cheese, or toast with her homemade strawberry preserves (you have to taste that shit to believe it, like heaven in food form) or whatever else I might've happened to be craving. She was a good listener, surprisingly.

I'll never forget one night I'd been fighting with Bruce over something completely unimportant and was cramping so hard I was almost doubled over. Ivy didn't say a word, just handed me a heating pad and sat next to me, gave me the best lower back massage of my life (and yeah, her massages are unreal) and watched Nickelodeon sitcoms with me without complaint. Thoughtful was not a word people used to describe her often, but it was a side of her we learned about while living with her. I guess it shouldn't have surprised us, given how thorough and nurturing she actually is with those plants of hers.

So what if she sang to the ficus?

It was the damnedest thing. I caught her humming to it one night, maybe midnight or so. She was standing in the upstairs hallway, completely naked (crazy woman sometimes forgot that people wear clothes,) singing to this plant, and I could have sworn it was singing back. It was definitely swaying in time to her voice, and she was singing and smiling and there was this...joy and love?...in her eyes that NO ONE outside Harley and I attribute to Ivy.

She caught me watching and was immediately self-conscious. I tend to give her a hard time, keep her on her toes, lead with sarcasm, but that night? That night I put my arm around her shoulders and told her to keep singing--she had a great voice.

And she smiled at me this perfect, warm smile. A secret smile that lit her whole face up into this breathtaking work of art and yeah, Harley maybe her 'girlfriend without monogamy' or whatever, but I fell a little bit in love with her that night too.


End file.
